Porthos the Medic
by athanharthad
Summary: After Porthos and Aramis are robbed and attacked on the road, Porthos is forced to care for a wounded Aramis. Things don't go too well. ONESHOT. NO SLASH.


"Aramis!"

Porthos jumped down from his horse as the marksman fell from his horse with a sickening thud, fearfully turning him over to see the kind of condition he was in.

Aramis groaned forcefully, his face red with pain. "Stop them," He ground out.

Porthos looked to the bandits who had taken all of their bags and provisions that had been taken from their horses. He cursed them for making what should have been an easy journey home into a situation of nightmarish qualities. Another groan from Aramis returned his focus.

"Let 'em go. It's not like they stole anything of value," he said through gritted teeth. He made to take off Aramis' doublet when Aramis placed his hand on his.

"Don't worry about it now, we can make it back to Paris."

"You don't seriously think I would believe you? You've been _shot,_ Aramis."

Aramis huffed out a laugh, but grimaced with the exertion. "I know that it's hard for you to deal with blood and injuries. I think I can make it to Paris so we can get a doctor," he said breathlessly. His heart was racing with a panic that he didn't want Porthos to see. He knew that he had to be the strong one in this scenario since he was the medic of the group. Porthos never liked injuries, always leaving the room whenever one of them went through a surgery or a doctor's visit.

"You will certainly bleed out before we get there. I can handle it, brother. Let me stitch you up."

Aramis was desperately hiding the amount of pain he was actually in. He was hit near the naval and was bleeding profusely. He closed his eyes in pain as he struggled to keep calm. This would be a life-threatening wound if not looked at soon. As much as he knew this, he still was unwilling to allow Porthos to go through hell for him. He stared into the eyes of his best friend. "Porthos, I can't in good conscience let you do this. I know how much-"

He was cut off by an agonizing wave of pain that reduced him to a whimpering mess.

"Seeing you like this is a far worse torture," Porthos said gently. "Please, Aramis."

Aramis looked at Porthos for what seemed like an eternity before finally conceding to his pleas. Porthos removed his own doublet before setting to work on Aramis. After removing his shirt, he was able to examine the wound. Much to Porthos' dismay, there was blood everywhere. He fought to keep himself from getting sick as he located the wound.

"Is it… still… in there?" Aramis said, chest heaving. The pain was ramping up and up and it was getting harder for him to keep himself composed. But he had decided he would make this as easy for Porthos as possible, and he was going to stick to that plan, even if it killed him.

Porthos ventured his hand around Aramis' back and found no exit wound. He shook with the realization that not only would he have to stitch up his friend, but now he was going to have to extract the bullet from his insides. A deed that almost _always_ made him vomit.

"Porthos?" Aramis asked, noticing the paling of his friends skin.

Porthos wiped the sweat from his brow and answered, "Yeah it's still in there."

"Oh Dios," Aramis muttered to himself both out of current pain and for the agony that he knew awaited him.

"You need to tell me what to do, Aramis, I've never done this before."

Aramis, taking in a deep breath and unable to answer, nodded his head. He gestured towards the thickest part of the woods. "Hide…"

"Of course," Porthos said, mentally kicking himself. All that time they were lying there exposed on the open road. Seeing his friend injured really took him out of his element. He very gingerly picked up his friend and found a small alcove in the thickest part of the wood. He lay Aramis down on his back before going back to retrieve their horses. Upon returning, Aramis noticed the distraught look on Porthos' face.

"What?"

"They took your medical bag."

Aramis' eyes widened. No medical bag meant no pain medication, nor the proper utensils to remove or stitch a bullet wound. Trying not to let his fears take over, he reassured Porthos, who was looking more and more defeated. "That's alright. We''ll improvise."

Porthos looked horrified. This was his best friend they were talking about. His lifeblood was flowing forth from him as they spoke and improvisation is what they were reduced to? This wasn't going to be easy.

"Check my doublet for string."

Porthos picked up Aramis' ruined doublet from the ground and by the grace of God, there was a piece of string hanging from where the bullet had pierced. He tugged on the thread, careful not to break it. The garment was unravelling and becoming unrecognizable. "I'm sorry," Porthos apologized, but Aramis was in too much pain to take any notice as his head lolled and his hands clutched the grass in which he was laying. Porthos diligently worked until a very long piece of string was freed. "What's next?" Porthos said loud enough to awake Aramis from his nightmare. Blinking tiredly, Aramis told him to find something to use for a needle. Porthos took a pin from his own hat that kept his feather on. After bending and twisting it, it looked good enough to pass for a regular stitching needle. He tied the string to the end of the pin and showed Aramis proudly.

"Good job, Porthos. Do we have any wine left? We need to disinfect the wound."

Porthos shook his head, "They took everything but the horses."

Aramis looked concerned. "We'll have to worry about that later then." He knew full well that infection was a very serious issue that needed to be addressed, but he was only going to take this one step at a time. Dismissing the thought from his mind, he noticed Porthos about to start stitching the wound. "I think you're forgetting something." Porthos looked up at him with big eyes. "The bullet. Still in there."

"Oh… that." Porthos set down the needle. "What should I use?"

Aramis responded coolly, "Your fingers."

"Aramis, that's gonna hurt you."

Not needing to be reminded of the pain he was about to endure, he answered patiently, "We don't have anything else."

Porthos removed his gloves and wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. He undid the top portion of Aramis' pants and tugged them down a bit further so that he could see the wound more clearly. He noticed goosebumps all over Aramis' skin. He was shivering. Porthos knew he needed to get to work fast before this situation got worse. He straddled Aramis' hips to get a better angle to the wound. Aramis looked up at him in silence. Porthos would never forget that look; a look of fear, a look of trust, a look of pain. Porthos shook as he said, "Here we go."

He bent down as close as he could to the wound, trying to see the bullet. Without any luck, he looked nervously up at Aramis who had closed his eyes with a furrowed brow. He stuck his pointer finger in the wound and drew an immediate reaction from his friend. Aramis tensed and breathed heavily. Porthos felt his stomach roll as he fished inside of his friend's stomach for the bullet. After a few minutes of searching, he could not find the bullet. He looked to Aramis desperately, "I can't find it."

Aramis moaned in pain and opened his eyes, "You have to… you have to go deeper."

Porthos bit his lip as he put his thumb, pointer finger and middle finger in the wound. Aramis bucked and groaned in pure agony as his skin ripped, making the wound an inch wider. He grabbed Porthos' free hand and squeezed as both a comfort to him and to his friend. Porthos searched and searched and with every passing minute, Aramis grew the more restless. It was truly amazing the self-control he had shown even up to this point, never crying out, never saying a word. Just breathless groans and ripped up grass. It was all for Porthos, since he knew he would never be able to handle a truly agonized Aramis.

Porthos' fingers were completely immersed inside of Aramis when he found the ball. "I just have to go a little deeper." Porthos went in further, ripping the wound another inch. This time, Aramis couldn't control himself. The pain utterly overwhelmed him and he kicked his legs out, sending Porthos to the side. Porthos, in an attempt to keep Aramis from hurting himself further, tried to pin his leg down with his knee. He was tripped up by Aramis' other leg and ended up landing on Aramis' hip with the full force of his body.

Porthos wasn't sure which he heard first, the crack of bone, or Aramis' gut-wrenching scream. Aramis writhed and trembled as his hands fumbled for his broken hip bone. Porthos' eyes went wide in horror. What did he just do? With his hand still inside Aramis' wound, Porthos was determined to extract the musket ball before he could deal with anything else. He finally pulled it free and threw it as far away from them as possible. With shaking hands, he picked up the needle and thread and began stitching the wound that was now three times as big as it was when he started. He mentally beat himself up the entire time.

Aramis' screams subsided and he was left a shuddering mess. Tears streamed down his face as his body shook with tremors at the trauma he was enduring. "Madre de Dios" he whispered over and over.

"Aramis…" Porthos said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Aramis only whimpered in response. It was all he could do not to continue crying out from the white hot pain that completely enveloped his midsection and his hip.

Porthos stitched as well as he knew how and was relieved when he finally tied off the remaining thread. He noticed how quiet Aramis grew. He looked up at his friend and noticed how dreadfully exhausted he looked.

"Oh, 'Mis" he cried. He looked down at his hands that were completely covered in the blood of his friend and he wept.

"Po..Porth's," Aramis croaked.

Porthos leaned over him, "I'm so sorry. I- I hurt you so badly."

Aramis shook his head. "Thank you for keeping me alive."

Porthos leaned his forehead so that it touched Aramis'. He loved his friend more than anything in the world and to have him scream and agony because of him was too much to bear. He noticed that Aramis had closed his eyes, so he knelt back and attempted to wipe the blood from his hands. The sight of it horrified him so much that he felt sick. He promptly threw up, emptying all the contents of his stomach that he had so miraculously held at bay during the entire procedure. He shook and wept at the memory of what he had done. He looked back at Aramis who was still clutching his hip. So he rose and went over to see the damage he had done. He pulled down the side of his pants and saw deep black and blue bruising and felt the break in the bone.

"S'okay. Come sleep." Aramis whispered as though he had no energy to do any more than that. Porthos took his doublet and pillowed it underneath of his friends head as he curled up beside him.

"'Mis..." Porthos whispered.

"Yes, mon ami."

"I'm...I'm..."

"If you are going to apologize again, don't."

"But I hurt you."

"It's not your fault. None of it was. You did a good job, Porthos." Aramis said groggily. All he wanted to do was sleep, but at the moment, caring for Porthos' mental wellness was a greater concern. "I'm the one who needs to apologize."

"Aramis, I won't hear it."

"Then we can at least agree to not accept each other's apologies."

Porthos laughed. "You always know how to make light of dark situations."

"Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow we'll be home."


End file.
